


Tabula Rasa

by cosmosmariner



Series: Distant Voices 'Verse [2]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: M/M, love takes work, picking up the pieces
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-06
Updated: 2014-06-06
Packaged: 2018-02-03 14:52:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1748549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmosmariner/pseuds/cosmosmariner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They have found each other again. Will that be enough?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tabula Rasa

Napoleon and Illya walked across campus together, making their way to Illya‘s home. Illya found that the togetherness was still there after so many years apart. He noticed that their gaits were in sync, as they had always been. As if they had been walking together every day for the last five years. They did not do a lot of talking. Illya only listened to Napoleon’s steady breathing. He could not believe how much he had missed that sound.

When they reached Illya’s apartment, he opened the door and let Napoleon in first.

Like the man himself, the apartment was small, compact, tidy. Napoleon walked slowly into the living room. He saw a record player and radio, two overstuffed bookshelves, black and white photographs of flowers and landscapes, a brightly polished brass lamp. Illya went to his kitchen and grabbed two small glasses and his bottle of Oben.

“A special occasion calls for a special toast, yes?”

Napoleon smiled. “Yes, tovarisch.”

They lifted their glasses silently, then suddenly Illya slammed his glass down on the table, swearing harshly in Russian.

“I need to talk to Grayling and ask him to take over my classes tomorrow. Just wait here; I’ll be back in about an hour. Don’t go away. I swear,” Illya said, running up to Napoleon and putting his hands on either side of his face, “ _I swear_ , I will come back.” He ran out the door.

Napoleon finished his drink, then walked around the rest of Illya’s apartment. Not Illya, Kulik. This apartment belonged to a man that Napoleon did not know. There were pictures of groups of people smiling, laughing. Amongst the expected jazz records on Illya’s table were other records that surprised Napoleon. Van Morrison? Bob Dylan? He would have never thought that Illya would know who they were, much less listen to them.

He continued to walk around the apartment, looking in his bathroom, seeing his small and functional bathroom. He picked up a bar of soap and smelled it. Still the same fresh and clean scent that he had always associated with Illya. It was like coming home, but in a way, exploring something new.

Napoleon went to the bedroom. He saw a large, comfortable looking bed with a few small pillows tossed onto it. When he looked at the bedside table, he saw a couple of picture frames. One photo was of Illya and him, dressed in thick winter coats and hats. He remembered when the picture was taken; they had gone to Vail to meet up with April Dancer and infiltrate a THRUSH group that were tunneling through a mountain. After the villains were captured, the Old Man told them to take the rest of the weekend off to do a little skiing. April took the picture of them, smiling brightly at the prospect of a weekend of fun. Illya had looked up at Napoleon, his eyes wide and cheerful.

He noticed small mementoes of their life together. More pictures, mostly of Napoleon taken unaware. Illya had always been a shutterbug, carrying around his camera on vacations and on some missions overseas. More times than not, he had aimed the lens at his partner, apparently. There were also little things, like the headdress that Illya had worn when he went undercover as a Bedouin. Napoleon had told him that he looked like T.E. Lawrence’s wet dream. Obviously, it had struck a chord with his partner. He smiled at the memory, then left to return to the living room.

Even more pictures in the living room. A good looking young man was in many of them. Napoleon wondered who the boy might be; he had to be a part of Illya’s life somehow. He saw a guitar sitting near a chair. He opened it up - an acoustic Martin. This was a fine instrument. He knew that Illya had played before, but he did not have such a guitar when he lived in New York. Napoleon caressed the wood and strings, strummed a few of them before putting the instrument down. He heard a slight cough from the hallway.

“Well, partner mine, that was fast…”

He looked up. A tall, slender young man with dark brown hair and piercing brown eyes stood there, staring intensely at him. This young man - a boy, really - obviously had a key, and knew his way around. It felt as though a vise had gripped Napoleon’s heart. It was the young man from the pictures. Napoleon looked down at the guitar in his hand, and the boy walked toward him.

“As I live and breathe. You’re Pasha.”

Napoleon’s head lifted up sharply. “How do you know that name?”

The young man smiled. He had deep dimples. He walked closer toward Napoleon and cocked his head to one side. “You _are_ Pasha, aren’t you?” he asked.

Napoleon nodded.

“I’m Jacob. Where’s the Doc?”

 _Doc._ He forgot for a moment that Illya had a completely different life now. “If you mean Illya, he’s gone to his office to talk to someone named Grayling?”

The boy - Jacob - smiled. “Mr. Grayling is the professor’s T.A. and he hardly ever uses him. I’ve seen him look like death warmed over and still attempted to teach class.”

“That’s typical for Illya. He always worked himself to the bone.”

The young man sat opposite of Napoleon and looked him straight in the eye. It was a very direct look; one that Illya had given him often. He wondered again what kind of relationship he had with Illya.

“May I ask you a question?”

Napoleon looked down at his hands. He noticed that his cuticles were torn and the fingernails chewed and ragged. When had that happened? “I guess, but I reserve the right to refuse.”

Jacob nodded. “That’s acceptable, but I doubt you will. Do you love Doc?”

“I… I love Illya. If Professor Kulik is anything like Illya was, then yes. Yes, I love him.”

The young man drummed his fingers on his legs. “I’m not sure if this means anything to you, but the professor is the most honorable person I’ve ever known. He’s honest and brave, and he’s the best friend I’ve ever had. And if Illya was like that, then you are lucky, because he loves you.”

Napoleon only looked at him.

Jacob continued. “I’ve seen him in here drunk off his ass holding a picture of you. He never lets me see him cry, but I’ve seen his eyes puffy and red. I’ve heard him talk about you when he falls asleep during our lessons. And I looked for you because he wouldn’t do it himself. He’s got his pride, you know.”

Napoleon nodded. “He’s always been that way.”

“Well, he’s still that way,” Jacob said. “Finding you was the only thing I knew to do. So, you better be here for the long haul, or you should be gone when he gets back.”

Napoleon ran his fingers through his hair. “I can see that he has a friend in you, young man.“

“More than that, sir. He’s like my dad, and I want to make him happy.“

Napoleon smiled. “What has he told you about our life together?”

“Not as much as I’d like to know. Like, why you guys broke up in the first place?”

“It’s a long story.”

Jacob took his shoes off and sat Indian style on the sofa. “I’ve got time enough.”

Napoleon sighed. “How much do you know, so I’m not rehashing things here?”

“I know some. Doc…er, Illya and you were partners in some CIA-FBI-secret service type thing. You were…geez, what would you call it? Boyfriend and boyfriend? Help me out here.”

“Just say _together_.”

“All right. You two were together for a few years, and then you had a big fight over something and Doc left, changed his name and came here to Smithton. That’s pretty much it.”

Napoleon rubbed his temples and took a deep breath. “That’s a lot.”

“I just want to know why you let him leave.”

The older man shook his head. “I was drunk. I was stupid - thought he would always stay with me. I was an idiot.”

“So you just said the wrong thing?” Jacob asked.

“It was more than that, Jacob. Illya had been asking about the future, and I kept blowing him off,” Napoleon began. “Things were a little different then than they are now. I was scared, and I thought that maybe I would lose him if we were more open. I didn’t think I would lose him because of my fear.”

“He told me that he thought you loved something more than him.”

“No, never. I couldn’t imagine… listen. I was married once.”

Jacob nodded. “Yes. You’re married to some woman named Bunny. Doc told me.”

The older man shook his head. “No, not Bunny. Before. I was married before I met Illya.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes, I‘m serious,” Napoleon chuckled. “I was young, and scared, and about to be shipped off to war. We were brash and nervous and I didn’t know if I’d come back. I wanted someone to carry on for me. So I married a young woman that I knew and liked and went off to Korea, a boy fighting in a man’s army.”

“What happened?” the young man asked, shifting in his seat, looking towards the hallway, then back at Napoleon.

“Obviously, I came back. Three months after I was Stateside, she died in a car accident. I’m not going to say that I wasn’t upset, because she was my wife, and I cared about her.“

Jacob stared at Napoleon with a curious look. “Go on.“

“You’re surprisingly easy to talk to,“ Napoleon said. “Anyway, when I look back on it, I was more relieved than anything. We didn’t love each other. We cared, we liked one another, and we probably would have soldiered on like the good kids we were, but I didn’t love her. She didn’t love me. We married out of supposed duty. That’s no way to live a life, young man.”

“What does this have to do with Doc?”

“What I’m trying to say is that when I knew that Illya was gone and he wasn’t coming back, it was the worst moment of my life. It was worse than when my wife died, because it was like _I died._ Everything turned black. I’ve spent the last five years of my life trying to find Illya. I love Illya with everything inside of me. I did then. I still do.”

Jacob was quiet. “Doc? Did you hear that?”

The professor appeared in the doorway, jacket in hand. “I did, boy. I take it you’ve met Napoleon.”

Napoleon looked from Illya to Jacob. “But, how did you know?”

Jacob laughed. “Sir, I want to be a police detective. I pay attention. Plus, I heard the door. It makes a squeak when the Doc comes in.” He stood to his feet. “I can see that my time here is done. Maybe I ought to come by tomorrow afternoon? Or, um, maybe in a few days?”

Illya smiled. “That might be good. Goodbye, Jacob.”

The young man grinned, slapped Illya on the shoulder and left the apartment. The Russian walked to his record player and put on some music. “Napoleon, I’m not sure what you listen to anymore.”

“Whatever you’d like to play, partner.”

The happy sounds of Van Morrison’s “Starting A New Life” began to echo through the room. Illya held out his hand to Napoleon and drew him out of the chair. Napoleon folded himself into Illya’s arms, putting his head on his shoulder. He could feel Illya’s chest rise with each breath he took. It was more than comforting. It felt as though Napoleon had come home.

“Pasha, I don’t know what we’re going to do.”

Napoleon sighed and held onto Illya tighter. “I don’t know. We have a lot of catching up to do, though. We have a lot we need to talk about. I’m not sure what you heard of my conversation with that young man…”

“Jacob. He’s my student, and a friend. He’s also a stubborn blockhead.”

“Sounds like someone I know,” Napoleon chuckled.

Illya snorted. “Yes, he does, doesn’t he?”

They were silent for a moment. Napoleon breathed deep of Illya’s scent, luxuriating in it. “I’ve dreamed about this. I missed your smell.”

“My smell?”

“No one smells like you, Illya. You smell like heaven.”

Illya reached up, put his hand behind Napoleon’s neck and gently rubbed it. “I must ask you how you know what heaven smells like,” he said with a smile, then sobered. “You’ve dreamed about what I smell like, Napoleon?”

“I dreamed about your scent, the way your hair feels, everything. I missed everything about you. I even missed you stealing my food. Speaking of food…I haven’t had anything to eat yet today. Do you have anything?”

Illya stepped away and walked into the kitchen. “I’m afraid I only have small bowls of leftovers. Today is usually my day to go out for dinner. You wouldn’t mind, would you?”

“No,” Napoleon called out, “I wouldn’t mind going to dinner with you.”

Illya put his jacket on and Napoleon followed suit. They began to walk down the street toward campus. Napoleon followed a step behind, allowing Illya to lead the way. As they walked across the commons area, making their way toward the downtown area, Napoleon could not help but notice that people would acknowledge Illya and not him.

“Hello, Professor,“ they would say, or “Good evening, Dr. Kulik.“ Napoleon felt a little intimidated, because for the first time in a long time, he was in a situation that he had no control over the outcome. Smithton was not his town, and these were not his people. He had an inkling of what Illya must have felt when he first came to New York all those years ago. It gave him a new appreciation for his partner’s strength of character.

Five years was a long time to be apart, and even though Napoleon knew that Illya still loved him, he also knew that in those years, his partner and friend had become someone new. To have Illya in his life, he would also need to make room for Professor Alexander Kulik.

To have found Illya, yet still be looking for him, was a paradox; one which Napoleon felt he would gladly spend the rest of his life trying to decipher.

\--

They sat in a small, dark room in a place that Illya called a supper club. The cocktails were strong and the steak was thick. Napoleon’s creamed spinach was delicious, and Illya’s hash browns were brown and crusty. They ate, but didn’t talk much. The waitress seemed to know Illya well. She kept putting her hand on his shoulder and asking him if he wanted another glass of water. After the meal, the two men strolled around the lake, taking what Illya called the long way home.

“Tovarisch, do you like it here?” Napoleon asked.

Illya was thoughtful. “It’s pleasant. I enjoy working at the college. I like the students. And of course, Jacob. He’s just started classes and I can’t abandon him now.”

“About Jacob. What’s the relationship there?”

“His mother works with me. His father died when he was a boy and I guess I filled in the empty space for him. I consider him my own son in a way. He really does remind me of you at times.”

Napoleon instinctively took Illya’s hand and squeezed it tight. “He’s a nice young man, I think.”

“Why did you ask if I liked Smithton, Napoleon?”

The older man let go of Illya’s hand and put his own hands in his pockets. “Because if you didn’t, I would have suggested that you come back to New York with me. But you do like it here. And I can do my work anywhere.”

Illya stopped walking and looked into Napoleon’s eyes. The moon was doing interesting things to Napoleon’s hair, highlighting the silver that began to show at his temples. It softened his face in an unusual way. “Pasha. What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that… well, I suppose we should talk things over first. Do you have enough room in your apartment for one more tonight?”

Illya smiled - that breathtaking, secret Kuryakin smile that Napoleon loved - and with that small gesture, broke the last of the iron chains that surrounded Napoleon’s heart. “Of course I do. Come, let us go home. We have a lot to talk about.”

They sat on Illya’s bed, talking, laughing, but they did not kiss one another again. It seemed that they needed to learn who they were now before they could go back to the way it was then. Napoleon laid his head on one of Illya’s pillows and slowly drifted to sleep. Illya took Napoleon’s shirt off of him and carefully tucked him underneath the sheets, then slid into bed beside him.

He brushed his fingers across the brunet’s forehead, moving a few of the stray locks of hair away from Napoleon’s eyes. He had always loved smoothing his hair and looking at Napoleon’s handsome face. He noticed the wrinkles around his eyes, the silver threads that had woven their way through the glossy dark tresses. Napoleon looked so tired. Illya could not help but wonder how these last few years had truly affected his friend.

“Pasha. Mon ange noir.”

At four in the morning, Illya was awoken by soft sobbing beside him. Napoleon was still asleep, but gasping for breath and crying. His hands were drawn into fists, and his legs twitched.

_Illya, come back. Please! I need you._

Illya instinctively put his hand on Napoleon’s shoulder. “Napoleon, I’m here.”

 _No…_ Napoleon moaned and sobbed again. _You’re killing me. Illyusha, no, don’t…_

Illya moved closer, wrapped his arms around the now struggling brunet. “Napoleon…I’m here. I’m here, be calm.” He moved his right hand to Napoleon’s head and stroked his hair.

Napoleon sighed, took a few deep breaths. Illya continued to soothe him, quietly reassuring him that he was there. Slowly, the older man began to wake up. His eyes were barely slits, yet he reached out for Illya’s face and tenderly caressed his cheek.

“Illya,” he said, almost worshipfully.

“Yes?”

“I…I had a bad dream.”

“I noticed.”

Napoleon relaxed slightly, then took the Russian into his arms. “But you’re here now. I just want to hold you.”

Illya nodded his agreement, and Napoleon rested his chin on the top of the blond head. Illya put his hand on Napoleon’s smooth chest. He used to love doing that any time he could, a reminder that his lover was there and that he was whole - that he was his. He especially enjoyed it after they had made love, and he could feel Napoleon’s eager, mighty heart pounding, then slowing into a peaceful beat.

Illya could not resist himself. He wanted to feel that again. He burrowed into Napoleon, tenderly kissing the hollow of his throat. He could feel Napoleon’s interest stirring. He kissed again, this time running his tongue over his neck, tasting the salt on Napoleon’s skin. Napoleon shivered, but did not reciprocate.

Finally, Illya moved up Napoleon’s body and licked up his jaw line.

“Illya, what are you doing?”

The blond did not say a word, only continued to nibble up the chin and jaw toward Napoleon’s earlobe. He had always found his small, delicate ears to be highly erogenous. Napoleon moaned again, but this time it had a softer, deeper sound.

“Illya, what are you doing?” he asked again.

When he reached Napoleon’s ear, he bit the lobe gently, but firmly, then whispered, “I’ve missed this.”

“I’ve missed it, too, Illyusha, but shouldn’t we take things slow?”

Illya laughed. “I never, in my entire life, thought I would hear Napoleon Solo tell me that he wanted to take things slow.”

“I don’t want to make you think I’m trying to seduce you.”

“No, idiot. I’m trying to seduce you. And I’m woefully out of practice.”

Napoleon touched his nose to Illya’s. “I thought you didn’t want me to sweep you off your feet.”

“That was then. This is now,” Illya said, then crushed his lips to Napoleon’s.

Each caress burned itself into Illya’s skin. The ferocity and strength of Napoleon’s kisses brought everything to the surface. It was as if a tidal wave rolled over the pair of them. Illya thought he would drown in Napoleon’s embrace, falling into him the way he always had. They touched and held and stroked, ignoring the small aches and pains that age had brought their way. Nothing mattered now, only one another. Only love.

Their lovemaking was dreamy, almost decadent. Illya whispered Russian endearments into Napoleon’s ear that caused him to whimper. He felt a few hot tears land on his neck. Napoleon seemed to let go in every way, and for that Illya was truly grateful.

“Illyusha. God, I need you…”

Illya drew Napoleon’s lower lip into his mouth, then engulfed his whole mouth in a kiss. The brunet knotted his fingers into his lover’s hair, gasped as Illya’s climax splashed onto his other hand. Not long afterward, he, too, gave into the pleasure of Illya’s firm grasp and cried out in joy.

Illya rose from the bed and walked into another room. A few minutes later, he returned with a soft, warm washcloth. He cleaned his lover’s stomach and hand, kissed his naked hipbone, then left the room again.

When Illya finally came back to bed, Napoleon was again asleep. This time, he looked peaceful, younger, as if a heavy burden had been lifted from him. Illya reached out, laced his fingers with Napoleon’s, and drifted off to sleep himself.

When dawn finally crept into Illya’s bedroom window, it found two men quietly sleeping, intertwined legs, hands clutching each other. Their breathing matched, chests rising and falling equally matched. When Napoleon woke up, he looked at his partner, who in turn was staring at him.

“So, what do we do now?”

Illya yawned, then smiled at Napoleon. “We need to talk. I mean, really talk, Napoleon.”

Napoleon raised himself up onto his elbow. “What would you like to talk about?”

Illya rolled over onto his back and stretched out. “Why you left UNCLE. Why you married someone you weren’t in love with. Things like that.”

Napoleon looked down, then traced his fingers across the marks on Illya’s chest. He never thought of those scars as being beautiful, but they were. So many memories were attached to each bullet wound, knife wound, shrapnel mark. “I left UNCLE because you weren’t there. It didn’t hold an allure for me any longer.”

“But your whole life was dedicated to UNCLE.”

“My life included UNCLE, yes. But it was dedicated to you. You were my life, Illya. In a way, you have been even while you’ve been gone.”

Illya nodded. “Solo and Associates?”

“Yes. The miniature you left me was what kept me going. I knew you loved me in some way, that I would see you again one day. I had to believe it. I had to, because you gave me the portrait. I knew you wouldn’t leave it behind forever. And if you wouldn’t leave it behind…you wouldn’t leave me behind.”

Illya turned onto his side, took Napoleon’s hand and squeezed it. “I didn’t know when I would see you again; honestly thought that I might not ever. I had been thinking for months before that night. I felt we were going through the motions, that you would never be comfortable admitting that we were together, that we were committed. In fact, I wasn’t sure if you considered us committed or not, and I was tired of pretending that everything was fine, because I thought that it would all change in a moment. You would grow tired of me. I know that there were women you found attractive, and I thought maybe you would want a more traditional life.”

“Illya,” Napoleon said, his voice slow and soft, “Why would I want anyone but you? Ever? You are the other part of my soul.”

“You didn’t make me feel that way.”

“I was wrong. I thought you knew. I thought you understood that there was no one else, there wouldn’t ever be. Did you know that about six months after we began our relationship, I burned my notebooks?”

“What notebooks?”

Napoleon smiled. “My address books. The ones with all the numbers and names of women. I didn’t need them any longer. I had you. You were worth a thousand women, more than anything.”

“For want of a nail…”

“The shoe was lost. Damn.”

Illya turned his head away. “I didn’t know.”

Napoleon put his hand on Illya’s chin and turned his head back toward him. “Now you do.”

“What about Bunny?”

The brunet sighed. “I had been alone, it felt like forever. I’d cut myself off from the world, surrounded myself with pictures of you, old Russian artifacts, books. That’s it. That’s all. I was so lonely. Since I didn’t have you, I thought maybe I could love again, find someone to make me feel alive.”

“And Bunny filled the void?”

“No. She never filled the void. I looked at her and I saw you. Every time I saw her, I thought of you. I wanted you so badly that I thought a cheap substitute would do. And I hurt everyone in the process. I hurt Bunny, and God knows I didn’t want to do that. I wanted to be kind to her, good to her, and I hurt her deeply. I was cruel. Terribly cruel. Selfish.”

Illya frowned. “What happened to change your mind?”

“I changed my mind almost the moment I said ‘I do’. But I kept on, because it was too late, and she loved me. I thought if I couldn’t have you, I’d have Bunny. The next best thing. And she wasn’t. But the night I left, she had confronted me about something I had done. I admitted that I was in love with you. And then I left.”

“She must have been devastated,” Illya whispered.

“She was, for a while. But she knew. She told me later on that she always knew I didn’t love her. I mean, we’re not the best of friends, but we don’t hate one another.”

“Where is she now?”

Napoleon began to play with Illya’s hair, running his fingers through it. “She is living in the old apartment. I pay a small amount of alimony every month and she lives in Aunt Amy’s apartment for free, until she marries again. I believe she’s dating someone now, and I think she’ll marry again before long.”

Illya moved closer to Napoleon. “You always wanted to spare the innocents, and that‘s what she was, an innocent. It must have killed you to have broken her that way.”

“It was bad, tovarisch. I felt guilty for a long time. I made a lot of bad decisions. The worst was letting you go.”

Illya wrapped his arms around Napoleon. “There is no reason for you to play the martyr any longer. I’ve already forgiven you. I don’t know if you realize this but I’ve made as many mistakes as you have. But those days are over with.”

Napoleon closed his eyes and breathed deeply. “Yesterday at this time I was by myself, driving to the airport to see if I could find you. And now, here you are.” He opened his eyes again. “I hope I won’t lose you this time.”

Illya rose up and kissed Napoleon’s cheek. “Pasha. My heart belongs with you. All this time, it still belonged to you.”

They fell into each other’s embrace again, holding one another close. So much time had been wasted between them, but the past was over, and the future remained. Illya and Napoleon’s lives were now a blank slate, and they would take this second chance that life had given them, determined to give love everything they had.

FIN


End file.
